When sleep and I are strangers
by teacupsandpicnics
Summary: When Spencer Reid is in desperate need of physiotherapy after being violently attacked by an UnSub, the team provide him with a pretty, Scottish therapist named Lawrence. He finds himself becoming deeply attracted to the woman. At the same time, his insomnia returns with a vengance. What, if anything, will get the young man to sleep? Potentially gay goings-on in later chapters.
1. Disinfectant, Coffee, and Serotonin

There was a heavy, grim silence, an almost tangible suspense as the Behavioural Analysis Unit waited anxiously for the news. The hospital had been their second home for the past two months as Dr. Reid slowly recovered from his injuries in an induced coma. It was decided that a bullet wound to the thigh, ankle and head, coupled with a particularly nasty cut to the wrist was not something he should recover from while conscious. For four weeks, Spencer Reid had lain without stirring in a private hospital room, while his team members from the BAU alternated which days each member would spend with him; watching his skinny chest rise and fall rhythmically. Throughout this time, one man occupied the room more frequently than any of the others-besides Spencer- a handsome, dark-skinned, muscular agent named Derek Morgan.

There was hardly anything remarkable about the cold, clinical room; in which a single metal bed, a heart monitor that had evidently seen better days, an IV stand attached to Dr. Spencer Reid's left hand, and a metal-plastic, blue chair, were the only pieces of furniture. Even the fairly large window only provided a grey sky and a fairly empty car park as a view. Even the nurses were plain, none of their scrubs were exactly new, and not one of them put even an ounce of effort into their standard ponytails. Furthermore, not once did any one of them manage to _smile. _This bothered Reid greatly, he constantly felt as though he was bothering them, but he'd put this down to his own insecurity and lack of trust in people in general. In an attempt to bring some - into the basic room, his crazy colleague, Penelope Garcia - a.k.a the magical, mystical computer whiz genius of complete awesomeness… or something to that effect- had strewn several pretty cards, coloured "Get well soon" balloons and various little quirky ornaments around the room. This was to be expected from Garcia, she was the type of woman who would often wear a pink bow in her hair or a green flowery jumper simply because she wanted to, and it was no secret that she enjoyed sharing this with others whenever she was given the chance.

Nervously tapping on the metal bed posts, Spencer shifted uncomfortably in his attempt to avoid the concerned gaze of his teammates. After glancing at his watch, which indicated that there were precisely two minutes and thirteen seconds until the nurse's arrival, he worriedly ran a hand through his light brown, mussed-up hair, and uttered a half-hearted laugh in an attempt to break the thick silence. After this unwelcomly drew the attention of the team, he blurted out loud and clear; "These results can't possibly be as severe as the last ones, can they? I mean the things that maniac did to me last year were surely more severe than these little scratches..." he trailed off, indicating towards his bandaged head, thigh and ankle.  
Agent Morgan had sat statue-still on a solitary chair in the corner of the room for some time, hunched over like a small child; protecting himself from the inevitable pain that was to be delivered, while managing somehow to avoid looking weak in front of the team, but following Spencer's random outburst, his lips turned up into a half smile as he addressed him directly, "You're rambling again, Prettyboy: and that's awfully brave of you to call your battle wounds 'little scratches', isn't it?"

Like a little feather caught by a sudden gust of wind, the atmosphere in the room was lifted, and became immediately lighter and more relaxed, jovial even. This wasn't to last however, as one of the plain-clothed-pony-tailed nurses strode in starting at a tattered green flipchart, it plummeted back down again, like a rock dropped from a great height.

"Dr. Spencer Reid?" she enquired, unenthusiastically.

"That's me." Reid piped up, rubbing his hands together nervously, and then wincing as he felt the movement echo in his deeply slashed wrist. The pain... Hot, unwelcome tears sprung to his eyes. As quickly as possible, he furiously blinked them back to where they belonged; inside his head.  
The little nurse cleared her throat and declared that Reid was a lucky man. "Not as lucky as you'd hope though, that bullet in your ankle did some pretty serious damage." she raised an eyebrow at Reid, who stared impassively at her, waiting for her to continue, and after realizing this, she carried on after a quick glance down at her flipchart; "don't you expect to fully regain use of your wrist for the next few months either... or your memory for that matter. The good news is that you can leave today after you have your bandages changed. Claire will walk you through your aftercare then." She turned on her heel without missing a beat and made to exit the room.  
Immediately, Spencer's mind began racing, thinking through what the nurse had said, assessing every sentence, analysing the underlying meanings, and doing his best to have his mind dispose of all the unnecessary information. Somewhere in the middle of this, he remembered the name "Siobhan" being on the tag attached to her lilac scrubs, he realized just then that she hadn't actually introduced herself; how unprofessional of her. This whole thought pattern happened in a nanosecond; Spencer's advanced mind just worked that way, and with his eidetic memory, he fully expected that he would be perfectly able to recall it at any given moment. While he thought this through, his head began to throb in a way that he had never yet experienced. A sort of dull ache in the back of his skull. Strange... must be a result of his head injuries, he'd thought.

"Oh and Dr. Reid?" said Siobhan, popping her head back round the door, making him lose his train of thought.

"Hm?"

"I forgot to say that you're entitled to a specific form of physiotherapy, due to your job. We're having your therapist come down at half twelve-" Spencer glanced at the clock, and realized that there were only five minutes and forty-six seconds until then "-so, if you could stick around 'til then, that'd be great." _smile._  
For the first time in two months, (well, four weeks and a day if you deduct the time he spent in a coma) Siobhan had smiled at Spencer. He wondered if it were even possible to check out in time to avoid the session, and after thinking up a quick mathematical sum in his head, adding up the approximate time he would have to spend doing certain necessary activities, such as getting dressed, walking down to the reception, signing out and so on, he concluded that there simply wasn't enough time. This whole mental process took Reid a staggering four seconds. However minuscule the time had been, Siobhan, had whisked her out of the room before he had time to respond, probably to tend to another patient. Most likely though, she had wandered off to speak with the tall, horse-faced nurse who had sometimes come to Spencer's room to change his IV, and usually left without a word. Spencer decided he didn't much like her.  
As Reid returned his gaze from the door to his team, it was impossible not to smile in the light of their face-splitting grins. Garcia looked like a child who had woken up and unexpectedly discovered that it was Christmas morning. Clapping her hands together, bouncing up and down, and giggling, she bounded over to Reid's bedside and grasped his hand. Even Emily Prentiss had an equally happy, yet solemn smile across her face. In fact, everyone in the room seemed to radiate this happiness, though each of them showed it differently. The very idea that these feelings were directed towards him made Reid feel slightly awkward; he'd never received attention like this as a child, and even though the team at BAU were like a family, it still felt rather alien to him. Pushing these thoughts aside, he finally let his own smile show, and as it morphed into a mischievous grin, he said "If it means I'm getting out of this hell hole, then hell yes to the therapy!"  
Derek Morgan rose from his seat and chortled "You're gonna have some old man making you do exercises, you excited Pretty Boy?"

Spencer pouted and glared at him "Derek, I-"

"_Helllllo!" _ A mystery voice cut spencer off mid-sentence, as a medium height nurse dressed in a classic, white, canvas nurse dress swept in gracefully.  
Thinking that the newcomer was a janitor, Spencer turned his attention back to his friend, then watched as Derek's jaw dropped. Derek_ Morgan's_ jaw dropped? After eyeing his partner dubiously, Spencer turned his attention towards the intruder, and his own chin took a trip South. The woman's hair was medium brown and fell in thick curls to below her breasts, which, _oh my_, were exceptionally large; coupled with a delicate waist and rounded hips, she was the ideal woman's shape Spencer thought... though he decided not to dwell on her shapely proportions, as any in-the-pants action would be extremely obvious through the flimsy hospital gown, and that was the _last _thing he needed at this moment.  
The most noticeable thing about the woman was her eyes, how they were wide and sparkling blue, they were so clear, almost piercing, and rimmed with thick, dark lashes. Her cheeks were slightly rounded, giving her face a distinctly cherubic quality. Lastly Spencer's gaze fell upon her lips. Gulping quietly, he noted how plump they were, and how the matte, pastel-pink colour matched her cheeks perfectly.  
"I take it you're Spencer?" she addressed the young Doctor directly, smiling and taking a step towards him, though, in the tiny confines of the hospital room, that was all it took to reach his bedside. Extending a pretty, pale hand she said; "I'm Dr. Lawrence, I will be your physiotherapist during your recovery" Her accent was strange, mixed, though he recognized it somehow.

"Are you British?" he enquired without thinking, taking her hand, shaking it lightly.

"excuse _me!_" she exclaimed, snatching her hand back, taking Spencer by surprise, then wiping her pretty fingers on the hem of her dress, as though they were somehow contaminated through her brief contact with Reid. She continued; "I am Scottish,"- then paused for emphasis- "not_ British._" It took Spencer a moment to realize that she wasn't really offended, but simply toying with him, and he wasn't quite sure how to carry a joke with a female, so after shifting nervously in his bed, he mumbled quietly; "I'm sorry, I just thought your accent sounded strangely mixed, well, not strangely as in bad, it's nice, just different-"

"Okay, Pretty boy," Morgan cut in; he'd observed Lawrence watching Spencer with a polite expression as he rambled on, almost overcome with nerves. Agent Morgan- who liked to think of himself as the Love Guru- knew that babbling never made a good first impression. "We gotta go now. We promised Hotch and Rossi we'd fill them in as soon as we found out what was goin' on. Don't worry man; I'll swing by to pick you up when you're ready." he finished, dumping Spencer's favourite, brown satchel on the end of his bed.  
The look on Spencer's face told Morgan that he _was, _in fact, going to worry; it was common knowledge that the young doctor's nervousness around females had resulted in several embarrassing slip-ups in the past. "This is a good idea, trust me. You gotta have some alone time, get your thoughts together..." He quickly indicated with his eyes towards the pretty physiotherapist (who was smiling widely at Garcia, and consequently missed the discreet action) "And you should get better acquainted with your, um, _physiotherapist_." he pressed, wiggling his eyebrows suggestively. "Just call my cell when you're ready, I'm on paperwork all day." Following a brief, Hesitant nod from Reid, Emily stepped up to say goodbye, Morgan ruffled Spencer's hair affectionately, and Garcia made a big fuss of him, fluffing his pillows, and straightening out his sheets, before the three left together, calling goodbyes until they had left the room and firmly closed the door. Which just happened to be the exact moment Spencer realized that this day was a Saturday, and therefore meant Morgan was _not _on paperwork all day, he was most likely planning on hitting a club or pub, or whatever was in these days, to meet women, and probably had no intention of actually giving him a ride home. Dr. Reid realized that Agent Morgan had left him alone, in a tiny room, with perhaps the most beautiful human being who had ever graced his presence, knowing full-well that he even got nervous around average-looking women, and probably thought this was some kind of hilarious joke. Well, it was most certainly _not _funny, and Reid decided that payback was most definitely necessary.  
After having realized that Morgan was playing a joke on him, he tried to concentrate on the situation at hand. Spencer gazed at Lawrence nervously as she stalked over to the little blue chair which sat self-consciously in the corner. As she walked, her hips swayed seductively, and Reid had to discreetly hold his breath as a slender porcelain-coloured hand snaked its way into her back pocket to retrieve a small, pink notepad. She whisked herself round to face him and flopped down on the chair, crossing her pretty, white legs and opening up her pad whilst conjuring a green pen, almost as if by magic, from the bindings which held the pages together. Spencer noticed that she was wearing white, frilly socks, as a child would, and, strangely, short, black, Doc Marten's. The young man could not make sense of whythis was attractive, but somehow he knew it was, _very_. There was a somewhat uncomfortable silence as she flicked through the pages, seemingly trying to find a fresh one. During this time, she chewed her pen absentmindedly, with her full bottom lip somehow trapped between her teeth and the pen itself. Something seemed so incredibly naughty about her; dressed like a nurse straight out of the seventies, short white dress and all, with her baby smooth legs and little girly socks, sucking on the end of that pen...  
Rather luckily, Lawrence uttered a little noise of triumph- "m-hm!"- and ripped out twenty or so pages from the pad, while also effectively ripping Dr. Reid from the not-so-innocent picture he had formed in his mind's eye. After glancing around the room in search of a trash can, she frowned; there was not a single one in sight. This realization led her to wonder inwardly why anyone would request a private accommodation, if one such room didn't even contain a waste basket, and it wasn't cheap at that. She sighed, while placing the torn paper on the windowsill, and concluded aloud: "I'll get that later."  
The lady made a decent attempt to quell the awkward tension that had slowly shrouded the tiny room to which they were confined by flashing him a bright, dazzling smile; showing off her perfectly straight, white fangs. But, in response, Spencer smiled without teeth, raised his eyebrows and shifted his eyes. It seemed a pretty reasonable reply, since he didn't actually have to do any talking, and therefore he'd eliminated the risk of him blurting out something embarrassing, however, unbeknown to him, that particular facial expression was the ultimate conversation-killer. Consequently, A moment of silence passed between the two, until Lawrence sat up straighter and turned her bright eyes on Spencer; "You were right, you know... about my accent being mixed. My mother is Scottish, but my father was German, with a sort of English accent... I guess i just ended up with a wee mix, didn't I?"

Spencer, surprised by her random honesty, forgot about his "keep quiet" plan and responded quickly; "I knew there was some kind of mainland-European in there! Your slight whisper on the 'w' sound gave it away. Also, i thought there was something different about your name; Lawrence is typically a male name, and it's definitely British. I'm sure Laurenz is its German variant, isn't it? It's just one letter off the English female name, Lauren, and is widely used by both genders in Germany..." Spencer trailed off as he realized that he was, for the second time that day, rambling. He bit his lip and looked up at the pretty woman who was now standing above him, eyeing him intently, with one delicate brow arched, creating a thin wrinkle on her smooth forehead. She did not look as though she was about to make fun of Spencer, but she did appear to be slightly annoyed. In a matter of seconds though, slight annoyance turned into open hostility.  
Fixing him a cold, steely stare, Lawrence whispered, "You seem to have an awful lot of information on names, don't you?" She shifted her long, slender arms so that they were entwined, with the fingers of her right hand gently drawing circles on her left elbow. "Enough that you're able to tell me I have a man's name. As though it wasn't already _obvious_" She took a half-step towards his bed. Spencer recoiled. He wanted as much distance between them as possible. She towered over him. Her hands were clenched into fists at her side, the pink notepad long abandoned. The pretty face gazed down at him through narrowed eyes. She opened her mouth and wrinkled her nose as though she were about to spit venom at him. The young doctor winced as he awaited the abuse- but it didn't come. Instead, her pretty pink mouth turned up in a smile as she gave a soft chuckle "Aw, darling, you looked so scared." She gave a cheeky smile, with the tip of her tongue between her teeth and her eyes crinkling at the corners. When silence ensued, she continued. "Don't you worry now, I'm not mad at you, I was just kidding, see?" With Spencer still looking like a small, frightened animal, she decided to use a different tactic.  
The young woman took one final step to his bedside, hesitated for a moment, and then reached her hand up as if to stroke his head. She held her dainty paw there for a second, and watched as Spencer eyed her warily. When she decided that he wasn't about to shrug her off, her long fingers reached up and gently caressed his soft, brown hair. The young man stiffened, then closed his eyes, inhaled deeply, and appeared to relax visibly. This, rather unsurprisingly, lasted only a second or two. Spencer quickly came to terms with the fact that an enchantingly beautiful woman was stroking his hair affectionately, and that was certainly not something he was used to. His big, round, honey-brown eyes fluttered open and he turned them on Lawrence's equally round, sparkling-blue ones. She smiled gently, and told him that she was sorry she'd frightened him and how she'd try her best not to do so again, but that he had to appreciate how funny it had been to play such a joke. The man smiled genuinely at her, and she noticed, for the first time, the warmth in his eyes.  
Good things do not last forever, as was proved when Lawrence decided that her business for the day was done. "I should get going now, Spence." she said softly. Spencer nodded in response.  
"I was simply to come along today to get acquainted with you, it's standard procedure, you see? We will begin the actual physiotherapy course after you decide when and where we'll hold the sessions. You're the lucky one here... making all the decisions." The woman held her tongue for a moment as Dr. Reid's eyebrows shot up. She cocked her head in a questioning gesture and, in reply, Spencer waved his uninjured hand down his torso with a smile, as if to say "_I'm _the lucky one?"  
To stifle her giggle, Lawrence's hand shot up to cover her mouth, but the attempt was futile, and soon the pair of them were giggling together at nothing. The awkwardness was nowhere to be seen, as the final few titters of their mutual laughter died away. The room seemed to radiate contentment when the two were left grinning silently at each other.  
"Oh, I do have to go now, Spencer. I've got a thirty-two year-old man upstairs who had broken the femur of one leg, and the ankle of the other and now needs to start walking again! Ouch, I know. Rumour has it, he looks like a toughie but he's a pure wimp! Remember just give one of the nurses a call and they'll bring you in a pair of crutches, I do _not_ want to hear of you walking without them until you know how to!" she smiled before turning, then walked the few steps back to the chair, fetched her notepad and strode towards the door. When she reached it, she pivoted in her chunky shoes, back to face him and said as her words of goodbye; "It's been lovely to meet you Dr. Reid, I look forward to our next appointment, it will be nice to see you again."

"You too Dr ...?" his sentence died off as a question, with the sudden realisation that he didn't know the last name to call her by.  
Apparently not realising that Spencer was asking a question, she threw him a final, dazzling, white smile and swept out the door.

A sigh of relief left the young doctor as the tension in his body left with the woman who had unintentionally caused it. He raised his uninjured hand to his face and buried his head in it as he prepared to become lost in reflection. A few moments later though, he was so engrossed in his playback of the day's events that he failed to notice the head which had appeared round the door.

"Spence?"

"Yeah?" he answered, looking up, quickly withdrawing his hand.

"I meant to say that you can get my number from Siobhan at reception. Call me to set up your appointments, or if you have any concerns, aye?"

"Yes, Lawrence." he replied tiredly.  
This seemed to satisfy her, as she whisked herself out of the room one final time, leaving Spencer alone, confused, and tired, cursing himself for not being as smooth as his partner, Derek. In hindsight, he realised that there would have been a perfect opportunity to…_flirt_.  
Would he have felt as low at this moment, though, if he'd have known that the pretty, young physiotherapist who had left the room no more than four minutes previously, was leaving the building with no intention of visiting another patient, and had a soft smile lighting up her face? The answer was yes, he probably would. But, had he then realised that her smile was caused directly by her thoughts of him, then that would be a completely different story.  
Spencer was not one to mope about things that simply could not be helped. Precisely five minutes and twenty-two seconds after the physiotherapist had left, he pressed the button to call the nurse, who took thirty-four seconds to arrive, and after alerting her to his needs, took two-hundred and fifty-six seconds more to return with a pair of metal crutches for him.  
The nurse didn't bother to make small-talk with Spencer, she simply showed him how to hold himself, and left promptly. After awkwardly dressing himself in the V-neck t-shirt and sweatpants -which were brand new, not at all something Spencer would usually wear, but nonetheless his size and incredibly comfortable- he swung himself out of the bed, fumbled with the crutches for a minute, then proceeded to hobble towards the door, taking care to lift his satchel, when something caught his eye. Lawrence's discarded notes. For a moment, Spencer hesitated, unsure whether or not to take them, but without really deciding, he scooped them up and into the deep, fuzzy pockets of his sweatpants. With a final glance around the room he decided he hadn't left anything behind, and lumbered off, down the hall to the elevator, where he shared a mercifully short ride with a sobbing, blonde woman in her late thirties.  
Upon reaching the ground floor, Spencer made his way to the reception desk- his crutches clicking with every step- to give his details, and, hopefully, pick up Lawrence's cell number. But, before he was even half way across the bright, spacious room, a tall, dark-skinned man clutching a medicine bag advanced towards him, and ushered him towards the doors. The man nodded towards the pretty receptionist who gave him a thumbs up and began to type quickly into the old, white computer at the desk.  
"Why are you here?" Spencer asked, more than a little surprised.

"Because," Derek began, "that pretty physiotherapist of yours practically forced the receptionist to call me, said it was real important that I come get you quick. Damn, but she's fine"

"I thought you weren't going to come at all. And... I agree" Reid smiled.  
The pair kept up the casual banter as Derek led the way to his car. Which happened to be a fancy black car that Spencer had never cared to learn the name of. He didn't see much point in spending so much money on something that did the same job as his old Volvo.  
Getting into the huge car was awkward, and slightly painful on Reid's part. Morgan, noticing the young doctors wince as he finally settled into his seat, laughed and made a comment that he should have used his "magical flirting powers" to get more pills from the nurse.  
Spencer laughed a sarcastic "ha-ha." and settled into the chair, ready for the quick, half-hour drive back to his apartment.  
The drive seemed a lot longer than the supposed thirty minutes, and by the time the two pulled up outside his home, Spencer was all but whimpering in pain. Being a kind friend and noticing this, Morgan fished around in his own bag, until he found a bottle of water, then reached into the small medicine bag, scooped out two pills from the little, brown bottle, and handed them both to Spencer, who took them gratefully.  
They spent a short while in that car, while Morgan quizzed Reid on the events which had taken place while he was out of earshot. Giving relatively little away, he told Morgan much of what happened before realising that he was quickly becoming _very_ tired. After having it explained that tiredness was a side-effect of the pills, Spencer began to groggily climb out of the car, supporting himself with his crutches. Morgan half held him up as they made their way towards spencer's apartment, and supported his weight as he struggled to manoeuvre the steps outside. As Morgan held the door open, he noticed his partner's eyes beginning to droop lazily, and gently suggested that he should take the elevator, not the stairs. Without much of a fight, he managed to softly coax the young man into the elevator, press the appropriate number and locate Reid's keys within his brown satchel.  
The elevator was easily big enough for ten people, but it was to be expected in such an upmarket apartment. The walls were mirrored, and the floor a tiled cream. It smelled of flowery woods and soft piano music trickled from an invisible speaker. For a moment, Derek wondered how the young doctor could afford to stay in such an impressive pad, but quickly realised that he never went to pubs or clubs, he didn't meet many females and so was spared the expense of buying them drinks, and his car was easily twelve years old, but miraculously, never needed repaired. He decided that it was almost worth being an asexual bookworm to live in such a decent flat. _Almost_, but not quite.  
When Morgan's thoughts trailed off and he brought his attention back to Reid, he noticed the young man had stood his crutches up and was holding himself up on the bar which ran across the back wall, with his faced pressed up against the mirror and his eyes closed. He was slowly sinking, sliding down the wall; it would have been a pretty humorous sight if Morgan had not been worried about Reid collapsing right there on the elevator floor.

"Morgan…" Reid mumbled in his semi consciousness. He had a slight frown marring his lovely features and somehow resembled a small, sleepy child. Instinctively, Morgan knew what to do; he snaked one arm around the young doctor's waist, the other around his knees, gently scooped him up into his arms and cradled him against his strong chest. With the arm that was under Reid's knees, he skilfully gathered the crutches in one hand, just as the elevator reached the desired floor.

Morgan strode out of the elevator and almost breathed a sigh of relief when he remembered that his partner's place was the first on the right. While outside the door, the older man stole a quick glance down the corridor. The hallway was wide and spacious, the red carpet looked brand-new and the wall paper was in pristine condition. A few pictures were hung upon the walls in large, intricate frames, and at the very end of the corridor, beside the door to the stairwell stood a large potted plant. It smelled strongly of coffee, which was strange, as Reid had not been in his apartment in months and even so, the smell would have to be pretty strong inside to leak out so thickly into the hall. His ponderings were cut short as the weight of the young man became increasingly hard on his biceps. He managed to make a fair one-handed job of unlocking the door, budging it open, and kicking it closed; all without knocking the sleeping doctor's head.  
As was suspected, the apartment did stink of coffee. The smell suited Reid perfectly though, as Morgan couldn't recall ever seeing him in the office without a strong, well-sugared cup in his hands. It was a quirk of Reid's, to never be without a cup. Of course the young man had many quirks, his insistence on wearing odd socks every day of his life being one, and the unnecessary facts he told at every turn, was most definitely another.

Inhaling the peculiar scent deeply, Morgan tiptoed across Reid's living room, and towards the doorframe of his partner's bedroom, which, strangely, had no actual door, but instead a curtain which was dark green with gold stars across it. It resembled something Albus Dumbledore would dress himself in. Reid often tried to impress the team with tricks and "physics magic" so it would not be surprising if he genuinely thought he was a wizard.  
Morgan chuckled gently as he pushed the soft curtain aside, and stepped into Reid's bedroom. Flipping the light switch had no effect whatsoever, so he decided he would have to manoeuvre the small, windowless room blindly.  
Feeling in front of himself with his foot, he slid forward inch by inch until the toe of his boot came into contact with what appeared to be Reid's bed. He turned to the side and rubbed against the object with his calf to test the height; it was only just below the height of Morgan's knee. Once he had a fair idea of how low the bed was, he sidestepped around to the side of it and nudged back the covers.

He stood there for a moment, feeling the warmth of Spencer's body in his arms, remembering how much he loved the him, and how terrified he'd been the night those shots were fired. Thinking that the warm, innocent young man who was curled up against his chest could have been lying cold, dead and unmoving somewhere in a coffin six feet under the earth at this moment, made hot moisture fill his eyes.

And, for the first time in months, Derek Morgan allowed himself to cry. Soft sobs shook his body and warm tears ran down his face. He stood there for some time, rocking the young man back and forth in his arms, before gently laying him down on the bed and tucking him in. He reached down and brushed his partners forehead with his fingertips, then stroked his soft brown hair, and finally cupped his cheek, then whispered in the darkness "Goodnight, Spencer." and left.

Spencer Reid slept easy that night. Sparkling blue eyes watched him while he snored softly, while a phantom hand caressed his brown curls. He turned over in his sleep in the dead of night, with a slight smile on his face; that night he dreamt of Lawrence.


	2. First Taste of Freedom

**HOLA. I had no idea what to write here, no one had given me any indication of where they wanted the story to go, so I just had to wing it! So sorry for the overuse of the word "cupboard" I don't even know what you call them in America Just so we're on the same page, if you're counting on this fitting in somewhere in the series then you're as well to stop reading right here. This is parallel, I haven't given a proper description of his apartment and the thing that happened in his childhood probably didn't happen at all. Hopefully the next chapter will have some proper action in it; this one was probably super boring!****  
****If this isn't quite up to your standards, then I'm very sorry my lovelies, I will try harder next time! **

Spencer was spared the trauma of having his Spyro alarm clock screech in his ear the next morning; which is just as well, seeing as the pain inside the young doctor's skull had doubled in intensity since the previous night.  
He sat up slowly, groaning. The limbs on the left side of his body ached and, for a fleeting moment, Spencer wished he were back in the hospital, with a nurse – Yes, a nurse. They were useful little creatures, however unpleasant they had been- keeping his pills in check, bringing him his meals... and he didn't mind it much when they fluffed up his pillows either. He decided, though, that giving up such hospitality for the freedom to be able to make himself a cup of hot, sweet coffee whenever he wanted was a fair trade by anyone's standards.  
Wincing, he gently pivoted, remaining in a sitting position until he was half off the bed, lowered his mismatched-sock-clad feet to the ground, (one pink with polka dots and the other a striped blue) then sat statue-still for a moment, while he waited for the room to finish spinning, and realised the damage to done his head was somewhat worse than he'd previously expected.  
Closing his eyes, he quickly flexed his toes into the deep, red carpet, feeling the softness though his socks. He smiled; it had been so long since he'd felt the fuzzy floor in his favourite room. It made him all the happier to be home.

Upon opening those pretty, brown eyes, Spencer made the observation that his crutches were within reaching distance from where he was seated. There was a wall, just short of two feet from the edge of his bed, and against it they stood - watching him, looming over him menacingly. After clumsily taking hold of the cold metal, he got to his feet,-leaning heavily on the left crutch for support- straightened his sheets with some difficulty, then awkwardly manoeuvred his small bed, and, after a few steps, came to the conclusion that crutches weren't especially easy to use on carpeted flooring.  
The young doctor made quick work of his leaving the small room. Bypassing the starry curtain-cum-door, Spencer emerged into his large living area, from which every other room in his house could be accessed. His throat tightened in anticipation as he crutched his way towards the kitchen, worrying that he'd finished the coffee granules before being taken into hospital, and hoping that there were still some left in the jar.  
The thin beige carpet made his journey across the large living room that much more difficult, the rubber at the end of his crutches had no grip on the soft surface and, consequently, he felt as though they were slipping. Despite this, he skilfully avoided the large cow-skin rug in the middle of the floor, weaved between his sofas (one of which was old, dark purple and threadbare, there sat his brown satchel, the other was a camo-coloured, chord loveseat. He also had a Dalmatian print chaise-longue) and finally, hopped over the grey marble edge of the fireplace, over the little stone step and into his Kitchen.

The room was a comfortable size, not especially large, though it was long; thankfully, Spencer lived on his own, so that suited him just fine. He stood in the doorway, and looked around the space. After his bedroom, library and living area, the kitchen was his 3rd favourite room in the apartment. The floor was tiled red and blue, and would have been almost reflective if it'd been clean. Along the walls on either side of the room, were dark wooden cupboards, cabinets and drawers – each with intricate brass handles- on top of which stood green worktops that provided space for his collection of electrical appliances, which he was profoundly proud of. The occasional cupboard door was missing, revealing the colourful pots, pans and cups inside. Nothing had a specific place in Spencer's kitchen- it didn't need it; his eidetic memory enabled him to recall where he'd left his things, and this meant he could retrieve them just as quickly as any organised person. On the left, the kitchen looked relatively identical to the right, except instead of containing five cupboards, three sets of drawers, a gas stove and a sink; it held three larger cupboards, two sets of drawers, and something that resembled a dog house. The large cupboards were not really cupboards at all; they were in fact, a refrigerator, a freezer, and a dishwasher, cleverly disguised.

Spencer's favourite thing about the kitchen was the doghouse- the man who had owned the flat before him had a large Rottweiler dog, who slept there at night. When the young doctor moved in, at first he wanted to remove it and put more storage space in its place, but as time passed, he found himself becoming increasingly attached to the little cavern (not like he'd have the expertise to change a dog house into a pantry D.I.Y style _anyway_) and eventually made up his mind to simply repaint the outside, and keep it in, so he could store some of his favourite things inside.  
The wall opposite the door, continued the same brown-cupboard-green-counter pattern, but instead of being covered in crazy cooking implements, it was instead occupied by various chopping boards, of different sizes and colours stacked up above one another, a knife block, a cup tree-on which hung Spencer's favourite mugs (the other, less important ones had been banished to the cupboards until required) and a fruit bowl, which-thankfully- had been emptied. Above this, soup ladles, wooden spoons, spatulas, tongs, whisks, measuring spoons and apple corers were hung, suspended by a metal rod which stretched wall-to-wall; another odd quirk of Spencer's kitchen. The aforementioned collection of electrical appliances was the only reason the young man was able to feed himself; without them he'd either starve, or be forced to order takeout's every night. He had next to no culinary knowledge and had turned to quick-grills, blenders and food processors in desperation. Since that first month, his collection had doubled, and then tripled in size, until he could whip up almost anything he wanted without even having to switch the stove on.  
It was above these devices that Spencer's kettle could be found. But, strictly speaking, that was untrue; Spencer did not own a kettle. He, instead, had a water boiler mounted onto his purple wall, which dispensed boiling water whenever it was required, so saved the time that would have been spent waiting for the water to boil. Directly under this machine, were his coffee and sugar pots.  
As he made his way towards it, he noticed a white plastic bag on the counter top, between his coffee and sugar pots. On closer inspection he realised that it was full- but he didn't remember leaving it there. He leant his stomach against the worktop and peered into the small bag. Inside was a note. Gingerly, he fished it out and opened it. It read:  
"_Spence, also inside this bag you will find a jar of coffee, two bags of sugar, a packet of hobnobs__,__ and one of those weird seeded loaf things you like. I've stocked the fridge too, otherwise, knowing you, you'd forget to eat and starve yourself. Dang, I'm stuck doing domestic chores while you're chatting up a hot physiotherapist- is this what role-reversal feels like? Anyway man, fix yourself up something to eat, chill, and give me a call later!_

_Derek xx  
Ps, you gotta call Hotch."_

Derek had bought all his groceries in, and he'd even remembered what bread he liked! The young man made a mental note to thank his friend for the unanticipated act of kindness.  
Crossing the room, Spencer examined the contents of his fridge- It was indeed full of food. A startling amount of which happened to be Spencer's favourites, such as: the Lime jelly pots, the chocolate mousse, the strawberry jam, and he'd even bought those little cream cakes from the baker's that Spencer adored.  
Morgan had also been very selective about which drinks he'd bought; he knew Spencer was very particular about them. Full-fat milk had been placed next to a large bottle of Mountain Dew, which in turn was stored next to his favourite ever soft drink; the blueberry soda. This was rather odd an item for him to choose, Spencer thought -it could only be found in the World Food Store down the street, which wasn't somewhere Derek would shop under normal circumstances.  
A deep rumbling sound echoed from deep within Spencer's abdomen. Glancing at the brown clock that hung above the door, the young man was made aware of the fact that it had been thirty-five hours since his final breakfast in the hospital, which had been pitiful- hardly enough to feed a child.  
Spencer was slightly shocked that he hadn't realised how hungry he was until this point; starving was the word. His stomach felt hollow and burned slightly; the young doctor remembered the last time he'd felt like this:  
_He was thirteen years old when his mother's __"funny turns"__ were at their worst__… She__ would either lie in bed, unmoving and silent, or disappear out of the house for hours on end; leaving the young boy all alone. He hadn't eaten for days, and had always followed his mother's rule to never use the stove without her supervision. Eventually, he turned to uncooked and frozen food from the kitchen. But it made him sick. After a week, the pains started so subside, and he had no energy left. On the Friday, he curled up on the couch and accepted the fact he was going to die. He thought it strange that, while he was aware that the woman who had brought him into the world, to take care of him, provide for him, and love him had failed her motherly duties, he still felt nothing but love for her__.__ A child always loves their mother. He was no different.__  
__Spencer did not die during that week, of course. His mother swanned back into their apartment that evening carrying bags upon bags of groceries. She had smiled as she told him he was getting too skinny. After this, she proceeded to take to the kitchen, where she cooked up a huge meal- Spencer still remembered it; vegetable soup followed by his favourite spaghetti- then called him into the kitchen to sit at the table while she served the food, chatting to him casually about day-to-day things, as if she were oblivious to the fact she'd neglected him for a week._  
He cried to himself that night, the relief overwhelming him. Never again were her "turns" so severe, but he was always wary of them.

Spencer blinked, recovering quickly from his flashback. He fetched a cup and spoon then fixed himself up a cup of coffee while putting some seeded bread on to toast. When it popped, he spread butter thickly on it, and was mesmerised for a second watching it melt, then awkwardly crutched his way out of the kitchen to have a peaceful breakfast.

Once back in the living room, he turned the fire on straight away; he had missed the dry heat, and the calm thoughtful state the soft, pulsating light inspired in him. He then settled himself down on the old purple sofa and set his mug and plate on the antique wooden table before reaching over to retrieve his brown satchel. He quickly fished out his cell. The little glass screen lit up brightly and he quickly punched in the password; "Hippopotomonstrosesquippedal iophobia" and noticed that he'd received six text messages and had four missed calls during the night. Penelope, Emily and Timothy texted him at least once each, and Morgan, Hotch and JJ had each left a text and a missed call. There was one unanswered call from a number he did not recognise. The young doctor could not have prevented the hopeful butterflies appearing in his stomach when he thought of who it may have been left by.  
Spencer wolfed down his toast, and then put the plate in the sink. He was becoming noticeably more confident on his crutches. Following this, he quickly crutched back in to the living room, stowed his cell in the pockets of his sweatpants, snatched up the mug of coffee, then made his way over to the large window at the front of his apartment.  
The window ledge was built in such a way that the young man could sit on it quite comfortably, and stare out onto the street to watch the world go by. He had decorated the window-seat with pillows and blankets that he'd collected throughout the years, most of them were antique quilts from the store near the BAU, but a few had been made by the old lady, Mrs Coultard, across the hall who, most Christmases, would bring him across a large basket of gifts. Every year he hoped she would hand him in a blanket, because- truth be told- he had never experienced such fine quality quilts anywhere.  
He settled himself down once again, against a large pillow that the family who owned the World Food Store had given him, and pulled a fuzzy blue blanket over his legs. Cradling the mug against his chest, Spencer delved into his pocket for his cell, scrolled down to 'Hotch' and pressed the call button.

After two rings, there was an answer.

"Hotchner." .  
"Hey, Hotch it's me. Derek Said I was supposed to call you…?" the young doctor's statement trailed off into a question.  
"Yes, I need to talk to you regarding your sick leave. We've decided that you can have anything from one month to three off, but please don't make me stretch for more time. We need you here at the BAU, as an active member of the team."  
For a moment, Spencer held his breath. _Three months?_ He didn't even want three _days_ off work.  
"Hotch… Sir… I don't need three months off, in fact I don't even need a month off…"  
The twenty minutes that followed consisted of Reid and Hotchner engaging in a semi-heated discussion about the young doctor's welfare and "best interests". However, with a lot of manipulation and smooth-talking, he managed to whittle the time down from one month to one week. As long as Spencer took the correct medicines and engaged in regular physiotherapy, Hotchner agreed that he could return to work the following Monday, but if a case should arise, he was _not_ going to be allowed out on-field. The boss asked if this was clear, and Spencer said it was. The call was ended and the young man was left to finish his coffee in peace.

The rest of the week dragged in. He found showering extremely difficult, and the running water caused him intense pain in his wounds, the deep slash in his wrist was particularly bad. On top of this, his strong painkilling pills were only to be taken for five days at a time. So he got relatively little sleep during the weekend before work. It wasn't all gloom though, because Morgan and JJ had come to visit him on Wednesday evening after their shifts. With him, Derek had a bottle of blueberry soda, but the young doctor decided against asking him how he'd known it was his favourite. That evening passed without any mishap, though Spencer was thoroughly embarrassed when Derek began making comments about Lawrence in front of JJ, who happened to find them a great laugh and joined in. When the pair departed, the young man was left all alone again, and retreated to his library, where he spent most of his time before returning to work.  
The final night of his sick-leave was the worst of them all. He hadn't gotten into bed until one-fifteen AM. Unable to sleep, he lay wide awake in his little bed for hours. He _just_ managed to doze off around four, but woke again half an hour later, in a cold sweat, following a nightmare. This was a regular occurrence for Spencer. Tobias Hankel appeared in most of his dreams, though, in recent times, Damian Knox, the man who had captured, bound and shot him, had featured in them more often than not. Unbroken sleep was a rare luxury even without their interference.  
He fumbled around under his pillow for a moment, until his long fingers came into contact with the cold glass of his cell phone. When he punched in his password again, the bright light attacked his eyes. After blinking a few times, he was able to look at the screen, navigate to his call logs and find the number that had called while he slept on his first night returning home- he was so sure the number was Lawrence's'. The young man was desperate to hear her voice. His thumb hovered over the 'call' button. After a few minutes though, he groaned, stuffed the cell back under his pillow, and turned over onto his side. There he lay until five AM, before he finally dozed off into an uneasy, fitful sleep.

**This is a filler. I'm very sorry that I couldn't get a whole chapter written in time. I often stay up late at night and into the morning to write this, but I'm sure that my brain can't work at its best when I'm dog-tired now, can it? I'm sorry but I'm super close to discontinuing this, it's difficult to juggle writing with schoolwork. **_**However, **_**the interest and some of you have shown makes me want to write this to the end for you. It's mostly planned out, I just need the time.  
Anyhoo, I have to thank "jmdernier" for his input. Clever guy!  
And, in reply to "Eragonluver11" Yes, I will do that for you love x  
READ AND REVIEW AND THAT.  
Scout out! x**


	3. Uh-oh

**Thanks for the reviews, it means a lot that you take your time to critique. Those who are saying that they need to know who Damian Knox is, you're going to have to wait, there'll be a bit about him in the next chapter/the chapter after, I will get it done though, I just need a wee bit of time! This chapter was like a big experiment in terms of writing techniques, imagery etc. etc. please let me know what you think ok? Ps, CrazyWomanLovesYou, toning it down as we speak… read rather.**

The first week back at work passed without much fuss, though there was a slightly awkward encounter with Hotch on his first day when he asked how Reid was coping with physiotherapy, to which Spencer replied; "Just fine, Sir.", then busied himself with paperwork, guiltily.

By Thursday, the young doctor was at his wit's end. Boredom was an enemy of his, it left him with too much time to think, and recently his thoughts had been centered around one person in particular-no prizes for guessing who.  
His lunch hour finally came round on that particularly boring day, and Morgan jokingly suggested that they take a walk down the street to Subway; Spencer wholeheartedly agreed, and rose with his crutches. Morgan was surprised that Reid hadn't understood the joke.  
"Hey man, I was kidding! You just relax, me and JJ are goin' down. We'll just get yours when we're there ok? It's meatballs with no salad, isn't it?"  
"Yes, thanks, it is. I want to go though, I can use these perfectly fine, and I've been stuck in for days."  
Hesitantly, the older agent agreed, helped Spencer put his coat on, and exited the building with JJ in tow.  
As the trio set off on their journey to Subway, the air surprisingly warm for a day in late September, the young doctor sighed with relief, happy to be out of the office with company. There were various shops lining either side of the road, and Spencer reckoned he'd visited almost all of them at least once, though he'd favored some more than others: The old lady in the bookstore was pleasant, but couldn't hear very well and didn't restock as often as he'd like, there was something dodgy about the hardware store owners and the pet shop was full of mewling kittens… but in Stacy's Little Antique Shop there was always something for him there- it was, by far, his favorite store on the street.  
Morgan caught Reid gazing wistfully at the tiny store.  
"You wanna take a walk across the street, Prettyboy?" he asked, raising an eyebrow.  
Spencer hesitated. "No…it's-"  
"Well I definitely do!" JJ exclaimed, cutting him off. "I love Stacy's, and we haven't been in for a while…" She turned to Spencer, flashing him a wide, knowing grin. Smiling back, he realized how glad he was that JJ could read him so easily.

Once outside the window of the store, the three discovered the lights were off inside and the sign on the old, green door read "WE ARE CLOSED.". Morgan chuckled and sarcastically asked Reid how disappointed he was on a scale of one to ten. Spencer told him he was at about an eight, and that all he wanted was a Subway at this moment in time. As they made to continue onwards to get lunch, something caught Spencer's eye in the shop window.  
From outside, you usually had a clear view of the whole store. Mostly there were little antique stools, dressers, and also old jewelry boxes dotted around the shop floor, but since his last visit, Stacy had acquired a new item; an old armchair sat grandly in front of the counter, blocking some of the smaller pieces from view. It was a brown, burnt leather color, and although it appeared to be a single-seater, it could have held two people at a squeeze. Spencer realized he wanted this chair for his apartment. Badly.

Without letting Morgan or JJ know what he'd seen, he turned on his good leg and crutched off with them towards Subway.  
The three picked up lunch and coffee and were back at the office in fifty minutes, leaving them ample to eat and prepare their files for the afternoon. Naturally though, Reid had already finished his work, and resorted to picking up bits and pieces of his colleague's, simply for something to pass the time.

The first two weeks back at work were incredibly dull. Every day, he rose from his bed/couch/piano stool, wherever he'd been sitting that night, showered and dressed, got his ride to work, completed his files, walked somewhere for lunch (always making sure to walk past Stacy's, checking that his chair was still there), finished his files, got a ride home, and endured torturous boredom for the rest of the day, and sleepless exhaustion for the rest of the night. His insomnia had returned, an old unwelcome friend of his it seemed. He occasionally found himself hovering over what he suspected was Lawrence's cell number until the early hours of the morning, battling with himself. Should he call her or not? It wasn't clear to him which was the right thing to do. Oftentimes, he'd lie curled up in bed, longing to hear her voice, wondering, and hoping that she, at least, was having a restful sleep. He couldn't help the persistent, sinking feeling that had been ever present since he'd thought of the possibility that he'd never actually see her again. This however, proved to be untrue.

Upon week three of his return, the lack of sleep the young doctor was experiencing had become startlingly obvious; his wide eyes were rimmed with dark circles, and his lips a ghostly white. The usually quick-to-do work became slow and sluggish (though he still managed to finish all his files by the end of the day) and he was drinking coffee as though it was going out of fashion. The team picked up on this and, naturally, began talking. By midweek it was decided that someone should attempt to talk to him, to convince him to reveal the problem that was causing him to look so terrible. Not one member of the team wanted to ask the questions, for fear of the answer "I'm using diluadid again" because they would therefore have to come clean to Hotch about it, which was never going to end well for Spencer. In the end though, no-nonsense Emily Prentiss decided that they needed an answer sooner, rather than later, and she approached him precisely thirty minutes before their lunch break, giving the young agent time and space, should he need it.  
"Hey, Spencer…" she said, softly.  
The young doctor flinched then spun round, and found himself looking straight into the kind eyes of his colleague. "Oh, hey Emily, I didn't see you there." He relaxed, "Can I, uh, help you?"  
"Actually Spencer, I'm kinda here to help you. The team has noticed how tired you've been looking recently; you're not working as efficiently as before, you've been drinking a _lot_ of coffee, even for you. Rossi's worried that you're suffering from PTSD; you know that if something's up you can tell me right? We're all really concerned about you."  
The young man shook his head and let out a genuine chuckle.  
"Emily, you guys have got this all wrong. I've just not been sleeping much lately. In fact I-" The young man's sentence was cut short.  
"DR. SPENCER REID. WHERE ARE YOU?" a familiar, yet angry, voice sounded from the other end of the office. The woman continued; "I KNOW YOU'RE IN HERE, YA LITTLE LIAR!"  
Though he could not see the woman, he knew exactly who she was. He heard a man's voice from the same direction "Excuse me Miss, this is highly unprofessional. I'm going to have to ask you to leave or I'll call security."  
The woman's voice dropped to an icy whisper.  
"You call whoever you want. I have business to attend to here. Where is Spencer Reid?" she flashed her security pass in his face dismissively.  
The man must have pointed her in the right direction, because no sooner had the words let her mouth than she was striding towards his desk, heels clicking against the hard flooring. Emily had a confused look on her face. She had half stood up to watch the scene the woman had been making, which was hardly surprising, as the whole office had done the same. He flashed his colleague an alarmed look and she in turn, slid a file over to him. Understanding her message, he opened the file and began reading it, as though oblivious to the fact that this woman was just steps away from him.  
His attempt to remain inconspicuous lased for a whole five pages (or twenty-four seconds, depending on your point of view) and he was soon torn from the charade by a sold, strong hand gripping his shoulder.  
"Nice to see you Spencer…" Lawrence purred.

**I'm slightly annoyed that this chapter is so short. I liked the length of the first, but it took way too long to write. The majority of this was written just tonight, I had to do it. There isn't much action here, BUT it's leading up to Lozza's wrath ok, Spencer's gonna be all "help ma boab" when she's done, I swear!  
Follow and such please darlings, you are all my faves!  
Scout x**

**Ps, PTSD = Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder **


	4. Big Trouble In Little Quantico

**Hi guys! I'm so sorry I've taken so long to update! Just had so many problems as of late, I simply haven't had time! Please read and review this filler, and share if possible! Thanks guys!**

As though at war with itself, Spencer's abdomen battled two distinct feelings; the upper half felt light and fluttery- people called the sensation "butterflies in the stomach" - while the lower constricted sharply almost to the point of pain. Both sensations reflected his feelings, the tightness was fear; fear that he'd be found out lying to his boss, or worse: fear that the woman would be incredibly angry and revoke spencer's right to choose the time and location of the therapy sessions… or worse still, cancel them altogether.  
However the butterflies, what did they reflect? Was it excitement? Desire? Both seemed equally likely- the woman who'd been on his mind for the past month was right behind him, her porcelain, long-nailed hand wrapped around his good shoulder...  
The hand gave a firm squeeze and wrenched him back to reality.

Derek had rushed to his aid from the other side of the room, he now stood –half a head shorter than Lawrence in her high-heels- on Spencer's other side with a protective hand on the young man's back. While keeping his eyes on the threat, Derek discreetly shifted his position to get a grip of his partner's elbow- ready to move him out of harm's way if necessary. The woman still glared down at Spencer; eventually he had no choice but to look up at her.

She was exactly the way he remembered; all round eyes and big lips and round boobs and big hips. Her face was visibly flushed through her makeup, her eyebrows raised in an angry arch. She seemed to be waiting for him to say something. When he kept silent, she asked him quietly why he hadn't called.  
The young doctor remained stiff and silent, like a rabbit caught in blinding headlights, and stared at her wide-eyed.  
"Spencer, you know you could have broken your femur. That rod is not going to hold if you don't build muscle around it, this was explained to you. I could have been fired, is that what you wanted?"  
During this time, Hotch had ascended from his office to observe the scene.  
The young man dropped his eyes and stuttered his feeble excuse;  
"I… I didn't have your cell number."

"I told you it was at the desk! The receptionist was to give you my contact card." She seemed angered by the apparent mistruth.

"I didn't go to the desk… Derek signed me out."

All eyes were on Derek, accusingly. The man was quick to defend himself.

"It was in the bag, man."

Spencer's eyes would have widened further, if it were possible.

"I didn't know that! I took the medicine out of the bag and… well I threw it away."

"Even if you did" Lawrence snapped "I left a call on your cell, you had my number regardless of what situation the bag was in. I wasn't even supposed to call, but I did."

"I…I didn't know… Like I didn't-"

"Enough," A commanding voice cut in; "Spencer can I see you in my office please?"  
The young man nodded, rose and crutched his way towards the boss's office, painfully aware of the stares that bored into his back.  
A gentle voice whispered from behind

"When you get back Spencer…"

**I'd like to say as a footnote how grateful I am for your reviews and PM's, they've really helped build my confidence, you guys are great!**


	5. On the hook, off the hook

**I know I've been away for so long, but I can return to writing now, and I am glad for it. Please read and review this tiny chapter whilst I get to work on a longer, more interesting one.**

_Maria struggled against her restraints as the man laid her down on a cold, hard table top. The air was chilly and moist, and she was practically naked. He stretched her arms above her head -and secured them at the wrists with a cable tie, then firmly latched them onto a hook. The sharp plastic dug painfully into her slender wrists, though she didn't seem to notice as she tugged hard against her makeshift cuffs until they tore into her pale flesh and red blood seeped out messily onto the table top.  
The man seemed angered and slammed the palm of his hand against the solid wood. "Stop squirming now!"  
The young girl flinched and whimpered in response, then tensed and stayed still.  
The man seemed satisfied and stepped slowly to her side. Whilst gently stroking her shoulder, he removed the sack from over her head and tossed it to the floor.  
She had the room memorized in an instant. Thick walls of unforgiving concrete surrounded her; they were completely undecorated as far as she could see, though she was unable to turn around to catch a glimpse of the wall directly behind her. This was not a mistake on her captor's part- they were hung with heavy instruments which appeared to be weird and wonderful variations of commonly used medical equipment: forceps, scalpels, chisels, and a thick roll of bandages... Though there was a medieval-looking heavy hammer and a modified blowtorch too- maybe not so wonderful, but weird nonetheless.  
Looking up at her captor, she noticed that he wore thick jeans and a heavy hood. His body was perfectly muscled, and covered with a thin shine of new sweat.  
He then spoke. He had a strange, mixed accent and a soft voice that said:_

_"Ming-Xiu. I'm so glad you're back"_

* * *

"Close the door behind you, Dr. Reid."  
Uh-oh. He'd pulled the Dr. Reid card. The young doctor wondered how much trouble he was in.

"Take a seat, please." The boss said.

Spencer took a seat.

"Well. You've completely gone against my orders, haven't you? I arranged this therapy for you so that you could continue to work here. I had the option to fire you, Spencer. I chose instead to squander our funds to find you the best therapist I could… and you didn't even call her?" Hotch looked up from his papers. "Please tell me you have a good explanation." He finished.

"Sir," he began "I didn't call her because I was… scared."

"Scared how? What has she done? Spencer, Lawrence is a lovely woman who would do nothing to harm you even-"

"No, sir" he interrupted "I'm not _scared_ of her like "in fear" of her… I'm just- she's a… Well, have you seen the woman Hotch? She makes me nervous. You know how I get around women."

The boss stared at him impassively for a moment. "Spencer, why do you think this is a valid reason to disobey my orders? You would call JJ or Garcia if I asked. Lawrence is no different."

"But, Sir, she _is_ different. I have - well, I think I have- feelings for her? I know it's crazy, I don't even know her! But ever since I saw her, Hotch, since that first day I can't get her out of my mind. I have never, in my twenty-six years of living, experienced this. And I just can't help worrying, what if I mess up? I don't want to feel… you know… Well, you won't really, but I don't want to feel like I'm not good enough, inadequate even. It's the worst feeling ever, Sir. I just can't…" Spencer's face dropped as he realized that he'd been rambling… again.

Whilst listening to the younger man's alarming honesty, Hotch's expression softened.

"Spencer, you know I can't accept this."

"I know, sir."

"And that is exactly the reason I need to introduce some kind of discipline."

"I understand, Sir"

Hotch looked up at Reid with a vaguely displeased expression. Spencer shifted his gaze nervously.

"Under normal circumstances, the consequences of your actions would be quite severe… but these are not normal circumstances are they?" Spencer's boss smiled gently at him.

"No, sir, I believe they are not." Reid replied, returning the smile.

"I need to insist that you arrange physiotherapy with Lawrence though, or perhaps we could find a different therapist for you if you really need it. You should know though, that if you do not call her or alert me of your need for a new therapist, then these "circumstances" will become a lot more normal. Do you understand?"

"I completely understand, Hotch. But please, let me keep Lawrence, I promise to call her."

Hotch nodded in agreement. "You can return to work now, Spencer."

"Yes, sir" The young agent replied, "thank you"

After steadying himself on his crutches, the young doctor began to make his way out of his bosses' office though he was called on a few feet from the door.

"Do you need protection?" his boss asked, a humorless expression spread thickly across his face, "because Lawrence is still out there, and I expect she'll give you a harder time than I did." Hotch chuckled.

"Yikes. Thanks, but no thanks, sir. Morgan's out there and he's all the protection I'll ever need."

"He is, isn't he" Hotch smiled softly.

"He is." Reid agreed.

Following this, the young man braced himself and crutched slowly towards his desk… and Morgan… and Lawrence.

**Thanks for taking the time to read this. If you could review that'd be great. I will see this through to the end, I'm hoping you guys follow me there- You should; I have a map now ;)**

**Scout x**


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